


you said forever [now i drive alone past your street]

by drasticdaydreams



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst and Feels, Heartbreak, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Post-Break Up, References to Depression, Song: drivers license (Olivia Rodrigo), dream is going through it, george wtf, sapnap is the best friend ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29440746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drasticdaydreams/pseuds/drasticdaydreams
Summary: In which Dream has many things on his to-do list; clean his room, get his drivers license, and try to forget what it felt like to kiss George at red lights.basically, dnf high school au but george can drive and also break hearts.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 48
Collections: The Hall™





	you said forever [now i drive alone past your street]

**Author's Note:**

> fashionably late to the "drivers license" trend

Dream has a lot of water bottles in his bed.

It’s one of the only constants he has left at this point. They cover the place he used to be. The place he’ll never be again. The place that Dream still reaches for when he wakes up in the middle of the night, heart beating a harsh melody against his chest and then slowing to the dullest sense of pain when he cracks open his eyes and realizes he’s gone, realizes their forever is over.

He’s completely, utterly, heart-wrenchingly, alone.

He knows he doesn’t deserve it. He knows, he’s been told so many fucking times, that he deserves so much better than the shit he’s gone through, but he can’t seem to stop his hands from reaching for the other side of the bed, the place where he used to be able to feel warmth and a heart that was beating just for him. Now he feels the cold release of plastic and the sound of too many bottles colliding, battling for dominance and coaxing whatever sanity Dream had left out of his body and down his cheeks until his neck is wet with tears and he’s choking back the gasping sobs that just don’t ever seem to go away anymore.

For now, he’s waiting for Sapnap to come back. He’d been able to come by every few days and clean up the bad habits Dream had picked up in the hours, minutes, seconds, prior, but he hasn’t seen the mess of water bottles that Dream curls close to each night, permanently unbothered by anything.

Because George took everything.

Sapnap has been another constant for Dream, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t thankful for him. For the nights he spent cleaning glass off of the bathroom floor because Dream had sent his fist through the mirror, the nights he spent silently crumpling up notebook paper, saving his best friend the embarrassment of reading the letters he had drafted to George, letters where he begged and pleaded and swore and berated.

He never mentions any of it. And for that, Dream is grateful. He doesn’t have much dignity left, his moral compass shattered somewhere in the corner of his room, and it’s nice to have someone on his side of the ring.

For awhile, Sapnap was able to remain neutral. Dream, George, and him were able to coexist together; sometimes the third wheel, but always their best friend. After the breakup, neither George nor Dream asked Sapnap to pick a side. They allowed him to balance on a thin tight rope between them for a few weeks, to spend a day here and a day there, to sit next to Dream while he stared emotionless at the wall and to make jokes and laugh with George like nothing had ever even happened.

And then George moved on.

And he moved on fast.

Sapnap asked. He pushed. He prodded. But George never gave him a clear answer.

_Why did you do this? How could you do this to him?_

_……… Did you ever even want him? The way he wanted you?_

_Was it love? He loved you, George. You never loved him, did you?_

Until George got angry. Until George accused Sapnap of being on “Dream’s side,” until George was screaming at his old best friend and telling him to _mind his own fucking business for once_ , until he was begging him to stop painting him as the antagonist.

Until Sapnap uttered the words, “I don’t even know you anymore.”

And George scoffed and laughed a bitter, cold laugh, “I don’t think you ever really did.”

When Sapnap walked away that day, he didn’t come back. And neither did George. And his loyalty to Dream was solidified time and time again through soaked pairs of pants on the living room couch, where Dream collapsed into Sapnap’s lap, his body wracking with sobs and painful noises of grief. Blubbering questions of, “How can he be happy without me?” went unanswered because frankly, it didn’t make sense to his best friend either. When Dream broke in front of Sapnap, when he opened the doors and let him see the empty and broken heart, the blood running cold through his veins - Sapnap vowed to shield him, to hold him there until he could stand on his own.

They’re both still trying their best to get their Dream back.

He remembers their first date.

The memory comes back to him in flashes. Searingly painful flashes that render him completely immobile. Unable to blink, unable to move his limbs, his heart unable to beat.

It was after a school dance. They had gone in a group, eyes meeting across crowds and circles of friends and smiles exchanged as they sipped on the spiked punch from the bowl. They had danced together, in the middle of the dance floor. Dream held a firm grip on George’s hips as the music played and they seemed to pull each other closer and closer until their chests were touching. Their eyes didn’t leave each other; not for the dance, not for the song after that, not for the entire night. And when their friends went to a party afterwards, they decided to try their luck at a local twenty-four hour diner. If George was telling the story, he’d emphasize the rain sprinkling from the sky, adding drops of darker colors to their already black suits.

But George isn’t here. Not anymore, at least.

They ate and talked and drunkenly flirted, sitting on the same side of the bright red booth. Their legs were touching. Dream remembers the feeling of it. George had methodically placed a hand on Dream’s thigh at one point, sending bolts of electricity through his body.

Maybe it was the alcohol in his system or the sound of the rain hitting the window right next to his head, but Dream had an extremely difficult time processing anything other than the way George’s eyelashes fluttered so naturally against his cheeks when he blinked. The way he looked so kissable in that moment that he almost did it, he almost closed the gap between them and pressed his lips to George’s.

But he got scared and smiled at him instead, responding to his shameless flirting with sweet rebuttals and obvious pining.

And then they were leaving together. For some reason, Dream remembers the way they took so perfectly he could probably walk the route in his sleep. Left outside of the diner. Walk for a few minutes. Right at the crosswalk.

He was taller than George. He still is taller than George, but it’s been so long since he saw him that he finds himself questioning mundane things about him; has he grown? Does he look any different?

When they began to cross the street, the rain started to fall heavily. A split second decision led to Dream pulling George into him, an arm wrapped tightly around him as they walked. He thought he was protecting him from the falling rain. But George cuddled in closer than necessary, until he was perfectly situated in the crook of Dream’s arm, and Dream began to think _oh shit, it’s almost like he was made for me._

Now Dream is forced to understand the truth of it all. George was not made for him. He was made to break him. To completely and utterly shatter his heart and his hopes and his dreams and leave him bleeding out on the pavement where he first wrapped his arms around him as they stomped through the deepest puddles, a solidaric nod to everything they once had.

Dream has been taking his time getting his drivers license. He remembers George poking fun at him for it through their entire relationship. He remembers driving George’s car with him in the passenger seat countless times through empty parking lots, his boyfriend laughing through harsh and accidental brake checks as he tried to teach Dream the basics.

Somehow, he can’t imagine taking his drivers test in any other car than George’s white one. He can’t imagine looking over in the middle of it and not seeing George smiling next to him.

It might be too much to handle.

He has no trouble imagining that night, though. That night when George picked him up, that night when the moon was full and the stars were bright in the sky. When they just drove around together, enjoying each others company and listening to music until it was three in the morning and neither of them were tired. When George stopped at the stoplight in their town and Dream looked out the passenger seat window, his mind racing and his heart beating through his chest. When, in one motion, George turned to face Dream, pressed his fingers into his cheeks, and pulled his face towards him. When their lips met above the center console and everything made sense, enveloped in the darkness of the car and the traffic light illuminating them in red film as George’s hands made their way into Dream’s hair and Dream forgot how to breathe.

The light turned green. They didn’t notice. It turned yellow, then red, then green, then yellow again, red, and they were being honked at for a few moments before George let go of Dream’s hair, trying his hardest to ignore the small whine that tumbled from his lips, and began to drive again.

He kissed him goodnight outside of his house, the car humming quietly and nothing to interrupt them.

What Dream would give to kiss him one more time. To know the last kiss was the last. To hold him and tell him he loved him - because God, he loved him - before he walked away. To appreciate the breathy laugh he’d let out when their lips skimmed together, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled into his kisses, just a little bit more.  
Those fucking eyelashes.

A part of him wishes that Sapnap would open the door and see the state he was in, see how fast he was plummeting towards a place of no return. A place where George wasn’t on his mind and he could sleep without waking up with empty water bottles rolling down the hill the weight of his body made on the sheets.

But last time Dream spoke to Sapnap he promised him he was doing better, that he was getting better. He didn’t mention it, but it was clear that his best friend was relieved to hear it. Was Sapnap tired of having to pull him out of the deep end? Was he over the late night tears and the bad habits and the mind numbing repetitive questions of, “I’m gone, and he’s okay. How can he be so okay?” that spilled from Dream’s mouth like crude oil into the bluest, brightest sea. Now all around both of them, surrounding them from every angle, was black.

Darkness.

And Dream hated the fact that Sapnap was forced to be there with him as he ruined the ecosystems in the water. But he couldn’t stop himself from thinking _now all of those fish know what it’s like to slowly die and to know it’s happening and to not be able to do anything about it. Now they know how I feel._

And it was pitiful, really, that surrounded by the mess of oil and destruction Dream had created, all of his thoughts were on the fact that the color of the sea was the exact opposite of George’s car. The one where he had kissed him for the first time at the stop light.

He still remembers one of the other late night drives, when George plugged his phone into the aux cable and smiled over at Dream. “This is our song,” He declared, before pressing a button on his phone, clicking it off, setting it on his thigh, and cranking up the music.

_I used to get on my knees, and I’d pray for love to come find me someday_

“Lvr Boy” by awfultune began filling the car and Dream sat in enamored silence, trying to think of the words to say to the boy behind the wheel that could reflect exactly what was happening in his heart.

_Cause you’re my lover boy, come on and meet my mother, boy_

But George beat him to it.

_You own my heart and it’s no one else’s_

“I think I’m in love with you, Clay.”

_I could be your baby_

_Always your baby_

_I’m always yours_

For awhile, George would joke about how in an alternate universe, if he was good with words and could sing, he would’ve written the song just for Dream. Dedicated it to him, sang it to him when they were laying in bed together, legs intertwined and head tucked into his favorite blonde boys neck. And Dream would joke about the lyrics _my life was black and white, but now i see color, boy,_ because George was colorblind and the song fit them so well that he was almost convinced that he had written it in an alternate universe, which would serve as even more proof that they would find each other in this universe and the next.

Now George is written all over everything that Dream owns and Dream fucking hates it. He hates that he can’t lay in bed without imagining how nice it would be to roll over and see George’s body next to him, eyelashes fluttering lightly as he sleeps. He hates that he has begun to detest the most mundane things, like his front lawn where they used to sit in the shade under the tree and talk about their future, their forever, their in-between.

He’s secretly grateful that he rarely leaves his house anymore, because every time he looks at anyones front lawn he can’t help but be reminded of George, which is fucking embarrassing, because he’s somehow connected to every move Dream makes. And he’s worried that everywhere he goes for the rest of his life is going to be like this. He’s worried that he’s always going to feel like this.

“You’re taking the test next month, aren’t you?” George had asked, referring to Dream finally getting his license.

Dream had been driving George’s car up and down the same set of streets for hours.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“I’m excited,” Dream could hear his grin from the passenger seat and he had to remind himself to not take his eyes off of the road to memorize the crinkles by his eyes.

“Why?”

“Because you can come over whenever you want to see me.”

“What if I always want to see you?”

George leaned over the center console and kissed Dream’s cheek, “That can be arranged, too.”

George was gone before Dream took the test. And Dream never even went to the DMV. He had spent that day replaying Sapnap’s Snapchat story of a party that he had gone to with George when they were still friends, in which he was sure he could see his now ex-boyfriend sat on the couch with his arm around a blonde girl, the same blonde girl that now permanently exists in Dream’s head and George’s Instagram photos.

Dream remembered her from the group they went to the school dance with. George had spent the first part of the night with her until she ran off with some friends and left him to his own devices. He was bored, so he danced with Dream.

And then the blonde boy fell in love with him.

He was bored, so he let him do it.

Dream had always questioned George’s relationship with the blonde girl but he always shrugged it off. Changed the subject. Kissed away the thoughts. When he would get texts from her, he would blush a deep crimson and blame it on the heat. Pretend his smile was because of something Dream had said. He was lying. It was always her.

But George wasn’t a cheater, which kind of sucks for Dream. It would’ve made it easier to hate him, to stop thinking about him, if he had cheated on him and left. But he didn’t. Instead, he left Dream with millions of questions and countless assumptions. Maybe he did love him, once upon a time. Maybe it wasn’t boredom that led him to burrow into his side outside of the diner. Maybe it was love. Maybe it was warmth. Maybe it was a distraction.

Maybe it had something to do with the her, like most of their fights did.

Dream and George weren’t perfect, even though Dream so desperately wanted them to be. But he loved him so much that he lived in constant fear that one day he was going to realize Dream wasn’t good enough and abandon him, leave him for someone better - like her.

Which is exactly what happened. And it’s also exactly what George always swore never would.

The fights would always start the same. George would get some sort of secret message from her and react to it in a way that made Dream feel shitty because, frankly, George had never reacted to anything his boyfriend had said like that. And Dream would speak up, tell George that he was feeling self-conscious about it. George’s reaction was never the same; sometimes he would wrap his arms around Dream, kiss him, and softly sing _you own my heart and its no one else’s,_ but sometimes he got mad. Sometimes he would spit, “You don’t trust me,” and Dream would deny it, promising that he did, that he always would.

Sometimes, George’s words would hurt like a slap to the face.

“If I wanted to fuck her, I would have already.”

And then he did.

 _But,_ Dream thinks, _at least he had the decency to break up with me first._

Always seeing the good side of him. Even when he knows shouldn’t.

The worst part about it all is that Dream knew George in ways that no one else did. In ways that Sapnap has been trying to understand since they broke up.

Sapnap was never entirely sure why they had to keep their relationship a secret. Why they had to sneak away and be alone after that fateful school dance, why they couldn’t go out with the group.

George never came out to anyone but Dream, Sapnap, and his family. No one at school could ever know. It was George’s fatal flaw; his inability to accept himself.

And so throughout their entire relationship, Dream was insecure about George’s connection to this blonde girl. It would’ve been easier for George to date her. He wouldn’t have to keep her a secret from everyone, hide her in a twenty-four hour diner so his friends wouldn’t see him. In a way, Dream can’t even be mad at George for leaving him for her.

Because he can be comfortable now. He can love freely and feel accepted and never worry about being caught kissing her goodbye before class in the hallway at school.

When Dream finally goes to take his drivers test, he isn’t nervous. He isn’t particularly excited, either, but somewhere in the middle. Somewhere between wanting to text updates to George as he leaves for the DMV, enters, sits down, waits for his name to be called - and wanting to listen to Sapnap talk about the new anime that he started watching.

Sapnap is letting him use his car for the test.

And he also wanted to tag along for moral support. Or whatever it’s called when you sit with someone for an hour in a DMV, completely aware that they’re lost in their own thoughts, and talk about a particularly interesting anime plot.

He was helping by just being there. Dream doesn’t say it, but Sapnap doesn’t need him to.

When they finally call him for his test, Dream turns to his best friend expectantly.

Sapnap cocks his head in response, “What?”

“You aren’t coming with me?”

It’s the first moment of admittance that Sapnap sees from him. No crying, no faux strength, just the fear of being alone and a shared sense of fierce trust.

Sapnap smiles lightly, “Its your test, Dream. I’ll be here when you come back.”

The blonde boy hesitates for a moment.

“I promise.”

He beats Dream to it and catches the small smile on his lips before he turns and walks to the door.

When Dream gets in the car, he allows himself to think about George. When he turns the ignition and the car spurs to life, the radio begins to hum and his heart falters. He remembers the late night drives and the kisses at red lights and the music so loud he couldn’t hear his own thoughts and that was okay back then, because he could look over and see the only boy he’ll ever love. He was sure that if he could hear himself think in those moments, every thought would be about the pretty boy holding his hand over the center console. He reflects on the incessant dancing and the random bursts of energy that had them laughing over the noise of whatever 2000s pop song was playing through the speakers and he can almost feel George’s soft hands in his, can almost lift his fingers to his lips and kiss them sweetly just to watch the soft smile that spread on the brown-eyed boys face.

Then, he stares at the reflection staring back at him in the rearview mirror. His green eyes stare back at him sadly, and he’s almost startled by his own appearance. The dark circles under his eyes, the fluffy hair growing too long, the aftermath of not shaving for a month left on his cheeks.

He blinks. Presses his foot against the brake. Looks over at his instructor, who nods, and puts the car in drive.

He passes the test with ease. Sapnap keeps his promise and stays seated in the uncomfortable DMV chairs, scrolling through his phone as people move and pass around him.

When he takes his photo, he blinks at the flash and Sapnap laughs when the man refuses to retake it.

And then they leave.

Dream’s first drive by himself is supposed to be therapeutic, but he ends up driving his moms car past George’s subdivision listening to their old song until he runs out of gas. Then he fills the tank and drives more, ending up at his old elementary school. It’s reminiscent, in a way, because he didn’t know George back then. All he knew was playgrounds and basic math and that he definitely didn’t like girls the way he was supposed to.

He parks his car at the end of the parking lot and walks to the playground where he broke his ankle when he was in first grade. His parents, in an attempt to calm him down, called him strong for not crying on the way to the hospital.

Right now, sitting on the swing set as the clouds roll over the sky above his head and prepare for rain, he feels weaker than he did that day. He feels like every bone in his body is broken and this time, there’s no hospital that can piece him back together.

When it finally starts to rain, Dream starts to cry.

He cries about George and he cries about the fact that he can’t stop fucking crying over George. He thinks of Sapnap and how many times his best friend has had to deal with him falling apart in the last few weeks, and how tired he probably is of hearing about his ex-boyfriend.

And then he goes home and he plays “Lvr Boy” by awful tune the entire way, thinking about how in whatever alternate timeline in which George wrote this song about him, he never meant it.

No matter what universe they both exist in, Dream has a feeling George will never love him as deeply as he desperately wanted him to.

So he goes home and lays down with his water bottles and curses himself because he’s pretty sure he’s singlehandedly destroying the planet with the amount of plastic that exists in his bed right now.

He dreams of George.

A few days later, when he has the energy to get out of bed again, he makes the hasty decision to go driving again. This time, he knows exactly where he wants to go.

He drives past the diner and sees the corner booth in which he first fell in love. Drives over the crosswalk where he thought George fell in love with him, too. Is tempted to duck and hide when he sees a white car drive past him, thinking it could be George until he remembers that he isn’t the only person within a twenty mile radius that owns a white car.

And then he laughs to himself, because the car he’s driving is blue and its one of the only colors George can see. And it matches the way he’s felt for the past few weeks, a deep shade of blue that used to be George’s favorite.

Dream pulls into the suburbs.

He pulls his car close to the curb, foot pressed on the brake as he turns the car to park. And he sits there for a minute, debating on if this is even healthy, decides fuck no, its not, but doesn’t move out of his spot a few miles down the road from George’s house. And he can feel it, with his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel too harshly. He can feel George’s body against his, wrapped in his arms in the bay window of the living room he now stares at through his windshield.

He remembers every step, every creak, and sound of that house. And for some reason, right now, he’s terrified that he’s going to see George through the glass. He can almost picture it, him leading his new girlfriend through the house and cuddling close to her on that same bay window. Wrapping them up in the blanket that probably still smells of Dream and the clandestine nights they spent together on the living room floor.

But the house is empty. It’s dark inside.

And once again, Dream starts to cry.

He sits in his car on the side of the road in complete silence. No music, no air conditioner cooling his warm limbs, just the silent sounds of his tears falling steadily down his face. It’s one of those cries that doesn’t seem to end. The kind that progressively gets worse and worse until you’re slamming your fists against your steering wheel, screaming, “Fuck!” And hoping for something, someone to come and help you.

Because you’ve tried to help yourself. You’ve done everything possible to dig yourself out of the deep grave you’ve buried yourself in, and somehow you ended up further down.

And now Dream is completely and utterly helpless.

He sobs.

His body shakes, his eyes begin to swell, and he has to take a deep breath and stare out at the horizon for a few moments, steadying his breathing so he doesn’t start dry heaving all over his car.

You deserved better, he tries to remind himself, chanting the three words in his head and hoping to make them come true.

His nose is dripping down to his mouth and he can’t bother to wipe it off. He can’t look at himself in his rearview mirror because he can’t stand the way he looks, especially not now, knowing that George still holds this power over him. Knowing that the entire drive to his street, he was thinking about how it would feel to drive home to him one day. To have their own bay window and their own front door and their own life together. To come home and kiss him on the cheek and think _you own my heart, you own my heart and its no one else’s_ and know its true. But it was never true. George’s heart never belonged to Dream, no matter how many times he hummed the lyrics in his ear when they were laying breathlessly together on his living room floor, his small hands running through Dream’s blonde hair lovingly.

He sits there for a few more minutes, head pressed against his steering wheel, eyes squeezed shut so hard it hurts as he grits his teeth and tries to stop crying. He takes a deep breath. And when he finally leans back in his seat and opens his eyes, there is nothing behind them.

No love. No sadness. No grief. No i _love you’s_ and no _goodbye’s_. No _it was never me, was it?_ _you never loved me,_ _did you, George? was it always her?_ No feelings.

Numb.

He can feel it switch. He can feel the pain subsiding in his heart and in its place is a sinking feeling in his chest. He knows how bad it is. He wants to feel guilty for not feeling anything but he can’t find it in him anymore. He wants to feel relief that the pain is gone, that he can look at George’s house in front of him and not want to run in and get on his knees, beg him to love him again, or at least pretend. But he can’t feel it anymore.

He presses his foot against the brake again, grips the gear stick and turns it to drive. And then his foot is on the gas and he’s driving straight past George’s house without giving it another look.

And then he drives home. Back to his best friend and his loyal hugs and the pile of water bottles that now sit in the recycling bin on the curb.

And if he could, he’d feel pretty grateful for everything waiting for him a few stoplights down the road.

But right now, all he has is tear-stained cheeks and a brand new drivers license in the center console.


End file.
